


I'm Not Sick

by yanagi



Series: Tony!SEAL verse [25]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11748387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanagi/pseuds/yanagi
Summary: Gibbs never gets sick. Until he does.





	I'm Not Sick

Gibbs never gets sick, until he does.   
.

Beta by the ever patient Jake and Jordre.  
.

The whole Pod were off for a week after the nightmare of bombs they’d gone through. The near miss had them all on edge, especially Remy. He hadn’t let Tony out of his sight since that day when a missed call had saved all their lives, literally. The stress had been killer. Ducky had insisted that they all needed a bit of time off to get their blood pressure down to somewhere near normal. Vance had agreed and given them a long weekend. So the Pod had decided to take a short road trip down to Piscataway Park.

They’d decided to take a rental bus to the storage so they didn’t have to leave Tony’s Hummer at the site. It was the only vehicle they had that would hold them all. Remy paid the driver, tipped him, then went to open the doors. 

It didn’t take them long to push the motors out of the storage and roll the doors back down.

Tony checked his motor, then nodded to Remy. “Good?” 

Remy nodded back, then tapped the side of his helmet, indicating that they needed to do radio checks. If anyone had a problem, they’d say so during the check.

Jet saw and said, “Jet ... test ... Digimon?”

“Jet.”

Tim called each man by his code name and was answered. “Radio check complete.”

Tony replied, “Light ‘em up.”

Everyone started his motor and moved out to form up. Tony led out, with Remy to his left and a length behind; then Dean a length behind Remy and to his right, followed by Cosmo, then Gibbs, and last Tim and Jimmy on Jimmy’s trike.

Tim had finally learned to ride, but they kept the trike formation for the convenience of the radios; now Tim and Jimmy took turns driving. It was Tim’s turn to drive first today, leaving Jimmy to man the radio. Tim always did the initial radio check, then, if it was his turn, handed it over to Jimmy.

They rode for awhile, enjoying the nice day, then Tony said, “We should pull over and eat soon; I’m starving.” A series of clicks let him know that everyone agreed, so he started looking for a good place to eat.

Jimmy checked with GoodEats and Google to see what they had. DC was a great place to eat, as long as you did your research. If you didn’t, well, greasy spoons abounded. Or, as Tony called them, Ptomaine Palaces. 

Jimmy edited out all five-star, upscale, date-type, and fine dining establishments and wound up with six four-plus-star family-style places within a mile of the highway. They pulled over to discuss it, and finally settled on a clean-looking place called Osteria Filomena. It had four and a half stars on two different sites, and it looked like easy access from where they were. 

They pulled into the parking lot in a rumble of motors, parked, and locked up their helmets and leathers. 

Tony and Remy made a quick detour to check the back of the building, then returned. Remy announced, “All good, ami. Clean and sweet.” Tony just headed for the front door with a smile on his face.

All the Pod loved Italian food, Tony most of all, but he loved it most when he didn’t have to cook it. Anyone who cooks knows the joy of that cup of tea you didn’t have to make yourself, that special cupcake in the fancy pastry box, or that special dish that you love that someone else made for you. 

Everyone followed Tony into the restaurant and lined up behind the “Please wait to be seated” sign.

Dean turned suddenly and bumped into Gibbs. Gibbs gave him a half-hearted shove, saying, “Watch it, squid.”

Dean shoved him back, grumbling, “Bitchy, Jet.”

Tony, not in the mood for a bunch of horseplay, snarled, “Mats. Seriously.”

Cos snorted and thumped Dean on the shoulder. “Jerk.”

Dean poked him in the stomach and replied, “Bitch.”

Gibbs snarled, “Both of you put a sock in it, we’re about to be seated. Unless you get us thrown out.”

The hostess just ignored the by-play and asked, “Seating for?”

Gibbs turned to her, as being closest. “Seven.”

The hostess nodded. “We have a rather large table, intended for ten, will that be acceptable?”

“Sure. Bigger the better with this mob.” Gibbs gave her a nod then turned to look over the Pod.

While he’d been speaking with Helen, the Pod had gotten into a neat line, calming down to act as if they, as Ducky would say, had some sense.

Helen smiled, dimples appearing, and led them to the table she’d mentioned. “Here we are. Is it okay?”

Gibbs eyed the table, then nodded. “It’s fine.” 

They all settled at the table in an orderly fashion, Tony’s hissed, “Mats! Seriously,” keeping them in order. Tim even made “zip my lip” motions.

Helen waited until they were seated, then handed out menus by simply handing the stack to Gibbs and letting him take one, then pass it on. “Excellent. We have three specials, which are on the glow board over the register. If you can’t see it from here, I’ll be glad to read it off for you.” She waited while they craned their necks to read. “And Nancy will be your server. She’ll be here in a moment with water. If you want coffee, just turn your cup over.” She walked off nodding to an older lady nearby.

Dean snorted. “Glow board my ass. Who can actually see that?”

The consensus was that no one could read it properly from their angle so Dean just stood up, walked to a place where he could see it and read it out loud. “Veal Piccata on a bed of spaghetti. Chicken Parm. Or Baked Stuffed Conchiglie Grandi. Side salad and garlic bread included. Drink extra. Doesn’t say what the conchiglie is stuffed with.”

Tony shrugged. “Usually stuffed with cheese and covered with marinara sauce, baked, then dressed with mozzarella.” He eyed the menu. “I’m in the mood for something different.”

It didn’t take them long to decide when they saw stuffed meatballs on the menu. Stuffed meatballs were one of those things that were either so good they ought to be illegal, or so bad they gave you indigestion just looking at them. From the delicious smells coming from the kitchen these should be the first. When the waitress came back, Tony asked her how they were made.

“I don’t know the exact recipe but they’re equal parts Italian sausage, veal, and beef. The cheese is mozzarella, and they’re baked slow, then put in the sauce just a couple of minutes; the noodles are dressed before they’re plated, then more sauce and parm over all. They’re really good.”

The whole table agreed that it sounded good, but Tony had one more question. “How many meatballs do we get, and how big are they?”

Nancy frowned for a moment, then made a circle with her finger and thumb about an inch and a half around. “This big, and you get four.”

Gibbs shook his head as the whole table moaned in disgust. “Not enough.”

Tony agreed, as did the rest of the Pod, “We’re big eaters. How about eight meatballs on four ounces of spaghetti? We’ll pay extra.”

Nancy looked at them and shrugged. “How about a standard plate apiece and we see how it goes? If you want another serving, I’ll see about getting you an all-you-can-eat deal.”

An eyeball vote had Gibbs agreeing. “Okay, fine. As long as we get toasted ravioli as a starter, and salad and garlic bread. Coffee?” Nods all around the table had Nancy scribbling in her book. She smiled, took the menus Dean handed her, and hurried off to the kitchen, where she had a quick consultation with the manager, then the kitchen.

A bus boy came around bringing water and coffee, with a smile and a sniffle. “Sorry. Think I’m coming down with something.” He poured coffee into cups, starting with Gibbs. He never realized that he’d sneezed into his hand then touched the rim of the cup. He trotted off with his pot sneezing several times.

Nancy came back with toasted ravioli and dishes of marinara sauce. “There we go. We set the ravioli up family-style, but put the sauce in individual dishes. Hope that’s okay.”

Tony nodded. “Fine. Made it easier to carry. Looks great. Salad?”

Nancy passed out the sauce dishes and bread plates. “On the way. Back in a sec.” She walked off with her tray under her arm. She was back in no time with salads. “Here we go. All done. Mains in fifteen or so.”

It only took seconds to empty the platter. Dean offered, “There’s about six apiece; maybe we ought to order another?”

Cos shook his head. “No. This is just to keep us from gnawing the furniture until we get our main. ’S good.”

Remy chuckled, “Furniture no good. But ... y’ ‘member dat place in ... Saigon? Me’by? Noodles so good. Not spaghetti ... some sort a’ dark stuff. Wit’ sauce to die for.”

Gibbs blinked. “Buckwheat? That’s brown. Whole wheat is more dark tan.”

Tony nodded. “Buckwheat. But really tender/chewy, not tough. Really good. And that sauce was sweet/sour and really good.” He poked at his salad for a moment. “I remember what it tasted like; I think I’ll try to reproduce it. Someday.”

Remy snorted, “An’ someday neva come. Dude.”

Tony scowled blackly at that. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Remy went back to his food, satisfied that they’d sorted that.

Jimmy finished his salad and ravioli, then looked around the table a bit sadly. “Well? Everyone done?” Everyone indicated that they were, indeed, done. “So? Where’s the rest of the food?”

Gibbs looked around then, signaled Nancy who obediently came over. “What’s up?”

Gibbs managed a smile. “Evidently not our food. Would you check with the kitchen please? The animals are getting restless.”

“Okay. Sorry it’s taking so long. Kitchen must be backed up.” Nancy hurried away to check on the hold-up. It wasn’t long before she was back. “The kitchen is short-handed ... couple of people called in. It shouldn’t take more than ten more minutes. I’m so sorry.”

The whole group made nice, Tim even going so far as to reassure Nancy, “It’s not your fault.” She dimpled at them and left again.

The meatballs and spaghetti arrived within ten minutes. They were well done, and the spaghetti was appropriately al dente, but the sauce was a bit on the thin side, and the spaghetti wasn’t properly drained, so there was a puddle of water in the bottom of the plate. No one complained, as the staff was obviously thin on the ground and doing the best they could. The busboy even told them he was sorry they were short-staffed, ending, “It’s some sort of bug going around, and the boss sends anyone sick home at once. Why anyone would insist that sick people work around food, I couldn’t tell you. Dumb, seriously stupid.” He sneezed just then, apologized, and trotted off. They could hear him telling someone that he was sneezing so he was going home.

They finished their food and caused a small riot as everyone grabbed for the check. Jimmy played dirty, when Remy held the slip of paper over his head to keep it from Dean; he jumped, snatched it and trotted off to the register calling over his shoulder, “Ha! Snoozers losers.”

Remy just shook his head. “Son a’ gun. Man’s a damn rabbit. Who say white boy can’ jump?”

They finally got checked out and headed for their motors, laughing and jostling each other. Dean eyed the sky and offered, “Looks like the weather’s gonna crap out on us. Rain gear?”

Gibbs scoffed at that. “What? Sky’s clear except for a couple a’ cumulus. Won’t do a thing.”

Tony eyed them then said, “There’s a bank of low stratus behind ‘em. Don’t like the look of that at all. Might amount to some cloud cover, or might turn into one of those slow, cold drizzles that makes riding miserable. Rain gear for me.”

It turned out that Jimmy, Tim, and Dean were on Tony’s team, while Remy and Cos went with Gibbs. So they waited while Jimmy, Dean, Tim, and Tony geared up. They did radio checks and were on their way.

It wasn’t long before they hit Indian Head Parkway and were about forty-five minutes out. The sun was now playing peek-a-boo with the clouds, and it was beginning to chill just a bit. They didn’t really notice the chill, as riding leathers are hot.

When they got to the park they realized that there wasn’t that much for them to do. The hiking trails were short and easy and crowded with clusters of what Gibbs referred to as amblers, people who were there to bird-watch or just enjoy the country views. They walked way too slow for the Pod, and it was impossible to dodge them to keep up a fast pace. 

No one was interested in the 18th-century village or the marina, after checking to see if they could swim there and were told no. There was also a fishing area, but it was catch and release, which they all scorned.

Gibbs ordered, “Pull into that parking lot. No use us riding around in circles while we decide what to do.”

They rumbled into the lot and parked in a cluster near an outbuilding. After locking up their gear they gathered under a picnic shelter to figure out what to do.

Tim brought up the park website, which wasn’t that much help, and settled at the table. Everyone else managed to cluster around behind him so they could all see. 

“Okay ... not that much info. If we want to hike, we’d be better off at Rock Creek. This area is full of elderly bird watchers and little kids. And how, I’d like to know, can you bird-watch in a place filled with screaming kids?” He paused to wince at a particularly piercing screech from a mother. “And helicopter moms. Ouch.”

Remy offered, “We could just ride? Maybe fin’ a place to go to, just to go?”

Dean and Cos both agreed with that. Dean just said, “Sounds like a plan to me. Maybe just head for nowhere for ... two hours? Then head back. Ducky’s expecting us for late supper. He said he’d get all the stuff and make up a menu. He wants AJ to make something for him.”

Tony nodded. “He won’t say what. He said he’d been wanting this for a bit. Some English thing he misses.”

Gibbs interrupted, “Okay, later for that. We’ll be sure to be back in time so ... vote. Who wants to go to Rock Creek and hike? And I do mean hike, AJ, not one of your ruck runs.” He took a second to count. AJ, Dean, and Jimmy held up their hands. “Who wants to just head somewhere?” Remy and Tim held up their hands. “Abstains because they don’t give a fuck?” Gibbs held up his hand while Cos just shrugged. “Looks like Rock Creek won by one.”

Remy grumbled a bit then brightened, “Well, we doan ha’ ruck wit’ us. Good tin’ we got runnin’ stuff.”

Tony nodded, “This one is for fun, not conditioning.”

Gibbs looked them over, “Okay, any complaining, do it now or shut the fuck up.”

No one objected, so they geared up again, including rain gear for Jimmy, Tim, Dean, and Tony.

Traffic was light, allowing them to pack-up and travel at a decent pace. They didn’t push it, as there was no need for them to be anywhere at a specific time, other than at Mallard Manor in time for Tony to make supper.

The ride from one park to another took just over an enjoyable hour; they pulled up at the horse barn and parked as close to the building as they could get. Tony called out to one of the rangers, “We’re gonna take advantage of the facilities to change, that okay?” The ranger, used to such requests, just nodded.

It wasn’t long before they were all changed into the PT shorts and short-sleeved, tight t-shirts they all favored for casual jogging. Jimmy shouldered his pack, grumbling, “No one has a hydration pack? Seriously?” They settled for picking up several bottles of water from a vending machine. Gibbs bitched, “Damnit! Three bucks for a small bottle? What the hell?”

A nearby ranger, obviously used to this, just replied, “We pay a dollar; small bottles are expensive but we can’t get a machine that dispenses bigger ones. The profit goes to maintaining the park. Next time, bring a hydration pack like your friend.” He grinned at Jimmy and walked away.

Jimmy genially cursed them all as he shouldered his pack. “Okay, you bunch a’ girls. I’ve got a pack because I don’t go any-damn-where without my medic pack and it’s got a hydration module. You, on the other hand, are a bunch a’ dumbass grunts. So ... we jogging or what?” He settled his pack and waited.

Gibbs grunted, took his bottle of water and joined Jimmy. The rest of the Pod did the same, getting water, checking shoes and fiddling until they were satisfied they were ready. Tony led out at an easy pace.

It was an easy half mile to the first check point, Rock Creek, and the fall zone of the creek. This trail followed the creek along its bed so that people could enjoy the sound of the small falls and rapids as they walked or jogged. The trees gave good shade without putting walkers in deep, chilling shade. It was colder than they’d expected with the cloud cover, but they were sure to warm up soon. 

They were just completing the half mile of rapids walk when they came across a bunch of brush blocking the trail. A cheerful voice called, “Sorry about the mess, the wind blew a sapling over. We’ll be done in ten. You can cut by on the downstream side.”

Tony led the way, commenting, “Be careful, it’s fuckin’ muddy and slick as hell.”

Jimmy went next, taking Tony’s offered hand and going on up to the trail again. After him, Remy, Dean, and Cos made it safely, but Tim slipped, flailing wildly to keep his feet, and knocked Gibbs just enough off balance that he slipped too; and fell into the creek.

He stood up at once, yelling, “Fucking hell. Fucking fucker is cold as a whore’s heart. Shit!”

No one laughed as the creek was really cold and Tim looked devastated. “Jet! Oh, man, I’m so sorry. Here.” He offered his hand which Gibbs took. A quick tug had Gibbs back on the bank and scrambling up to the path. 

The rangers came down to see if he was okay, but he just said, “I’m fine. Just wet. Tim, stop sputtering like a busted duck. I’m fine. I know it was an accident. Let’s go, I’ll warm up running.”

The rangers went back to their work after offering to call for aid on their radio and being refused with thanks. Tony demanded Jimmy’s pack, saying that he’d take a turn with it. Jimmy handed it over, well aware that Tony would be insulted if he refused. The Pod returned to their jog.

As they jogged, they chanted a cadence.

Above the land,  
Across the sea,  
We're everywhere  
We need to be.  
We're brothers of  
A special kind,  
A better band  
You'll never find.  
Band of brothers,  
That's what we are,  
Fighting evil  
Near and far.  
Band of brothers,  
That's what I said,  
Baptized by fire,  
Scarred by lead.  
We're lean and mean,  
And fit to fight  
Anywhere,  
Day or night.  
When bullets fly,  
And rockets fall,  
We'll stand our ground,  
And give our all.  
We're on the move,  
We're on the march,  
We're diggin' ditches,  
And breakin' starch.  
When you hear,  
Our battle cry,  
You better move,  
And step aside.  
Band of brothers,  
That's what we said,  
Mess with us,  
We'll shoot you dead.  
Band of brothers,  
Trained to kill,  
If we don't getcha,  
Our sisters will.

The last line always made Jimmy snicker.

.

When they reached the Boulder Bridge, Jimmy called a halt and Tony gave him his pack. “Okay. Everyone hydrate. If you’re out of water, I’ll share mine. Jet, let me check your feet. Wet shoes are not so good.”

Gibbs sat down on a nearby rock and pulled off his wet shoes. “Not too bad. Got one hot spot.” He let Jimmy examine his feet. 

Jimmy frowned, stuck a piece of moleskin on the hot spot and handed Gibbs a can. “Here. Powder the hell out of them.” He fished around in his pack. “Dry socks.”

Gibbs accepted the can and socks. “Socks won’t do much good. Shoes are still wet.”

Remy took one shoe and examined it. “Well, the liners are foam. If I’m careful I think I can squeeze a lot of water out of them. And the shell is that ventilation net, so it’s nearly dry.” He proceeded to pull the liners out.

Dean thought for a second then pulled his t-shirt off. “Here. Roll them up in this then stand on it. Ought to really dry them out without having to worry about crumpling them. And your weight ...” He snickered, “A ton will really press ‘em good.”

“Jerk.” But Remy took the shirt, rolled up a bit of the hem then added the inner soles and finished rolling. He put the roll on the ground then stood on it, bouncing a bit. “There.” He unrolled the shirt and found two wet spots and nearly dry inner soles. He handed them to Dean who stuck them back into the shoes then put his damp shirt back on. 

Gibbs waited while Jimmy rechecked his feet after he’d powdered them then he put his dry socks on then his shoes. The second he stood up they were all off again. This time Dean carried the pack. Gibbs called the paces as their turnoff was only about a hundred feet from the bridge and was easy to miss. 

The last mile wasn’t too difficult, as the surface was hard and dry, without any sandy patches or gravel. They arrived back at the center and did pulse rate and respiration checks. Jimmy demanded that everyone check their feet, then stuffed the vending machine with bills and handed out water. “Everyone drink. My module is dry, so I know you’re not adequately hydrated.” No one complained, but Tony hissed to Dean, “Collection, man. Make sure.” Dean just nodded and wandered off to stretch and walk around to cool off.

Everyone walked around until Tony called them all in. “Okay, guys, we need to get on the road; let’s mount up.”

It didn’t take them long to gear up, do radio checks, and head for Mallard Manor. They hadn’t been on the road for more than five minutes when it began to drizzle, one of those slow, soaking, cold mists that made everyone shiver miserably, even Jimmy, Tim, Dean, and Tony.

It was unfortunate that traffic got worse as the mist continued to fall, this trapped them in a slow-moving stream of cars and trucks that they couldn’t get around. Well, they could, but it would mean driving down the shoulder and weaving in and out of traffic, a thing that was frowned upon by police because it was unsafe in the extreme. So they endured. Those who had been smart and put on rain gear weren’t as bad off as the others, but they were chilly; Gibbs, Cos, and Remy were chilled to the bone within ten minutes. The ride took twice as long as usual.

They drove around to the back and parked the motors under a huge grape arbor covered not with grapes, but clematis. It would protect the motors until they could get them back to storage. Everyone headed for the back door, shucking gear as they went. 

Ducky greeted them at the door with, “Well, come in, come in. You’re all going to catch your death. I’ve put robes out for all of you ... and slippers. I do not want to see any bare feet, thank you very much. Now shoo!” 

The laughing, shoving mob made their way up the stairs to change out of their soaked clothing and into clean shorts and terry bathrobes. Each room had two robes in it, one for its resident and one for a guest. Every robe had a name stitched on the left breast. Gibbs had said, “Duck, not like we don’t know each other’s names. What’s with this?”

Ducky had replied, “I am not having those young rips claiming that someone has taken the wrong robe. I’m much smarter than that.”

Gibbs had nearly hurt himself; he’d laughed so hard he’d slipped on the kitchen floor and sat down hard, it hadn’t stopped him from snickering for the next few minutes.

Per Ducky’s arrangements; Tony shared with Remy, Tim with Dean, and Jimmy with Cos; Gibbs used Ducky’s facilities. It didn’t take them long to get back to the kitchen, carrying their wet things. They headed for the hot coffee and tea that Ducky provided. 

Jimmy announced, “Everyone make sure to put your wet things in the laundry room. I’ll sort it out in a minute. It only needs drying, right?” Everyone agreed that their clothing just needed a quick trip through the dryer, so Jimmy took off with his coffee to see to it.

Tony turned to Ducky to see what he wanted.

It turned out that Ducky wanted Cornish Pasties. Tony just shrugged and asked, “Roast beef?”

“I just bought some of that delicious roast from Rossetti’s Deli. It’ll do just fine.” Ducky managed to look just a tiny bit smug.

“Great. So ...” Tony began rummaging through the bags still on the counter. “Turnips. Onions. Frozen peas?” Tony held up the bag with a quizzical expression.

Ducky laughed a bit then said, “Not traditional, but Mother put them in so I’d eat something green. So ... peas.”

Tony chuckled then said, “And I bet her peas were dried.”

“Indeed they were. Hard as bullets unless you precooked them properly. Which she sometimes forgot to do. So. And gravy.”

“Yeah, I’ll make it from that stock. How the hell anyone thinks you can make good gravy from broth, I’ll never know. So. Someone’ll need to peel the turnips and onions. They need to be chopped into pieces about the size of the peas. I’ll make the dough.” He rummaged a bit farther. “Apples?”

Ducky shamefacedly admitted, “I was hoping for hand pies as well.”

Gibbs just grabbed an apple and a lemon. “I’ll start peeling.”

Tony said. “Great. Chop them into about inch cubes please.”

Gibbs sneezed twice. Everyone eyed him with alarm. And it caused Tony to say, “On second thought ... maybe not.”

Gibbs shrugged and gave up the chore without comment; one of the Pod rules was, “No sickos around food.” 

“I’ll just have some coffee and sit with Ducky.” He got his coffee and retreated to the kitchen table to sit at the opposite end from Ducky and revel in the luxury of doing nothing. “Duck.” Something he didn’t often do.

Ducky nodded to Gibbs. “Jet. Please tell me you’re not getting ill.”

“Me? I never get sick ... you know that.” He settled more comfortably in his chair, making sure his robe was closed modestly and took a drink. Even his second cup of coffee wasn’t touching his chill.

Jimmy ambled back in, empty cup hanging off a finger. “I’ve got the first load in. Um ... underwear, socks, and shirts. Then pants. I’m glad we labeled everything. It’ll be about half an hour.”

Everyone called out some version of “thank you,” then went back to being assigned tasks.

Dean wound up with turnips, Cos with onions, Remy with apples. Jimmy was tending laundry, so he sat with Ducky and Gibbs until he had to get up to mess with it. Ducky happily sat, regaling them with stories which Gibbs was happy to listen to. He only cut Ducky off while they were working, well aware that he would ramble on for precious minutes; and that he didn’t get mad while they were working. Tim was set to chopping the meat up, while Tony did his magic with pie dough.

They were nearly done when Jimmy got up for the last time and announced, “This is the last load. When it’s done, I’m going to fold your stuff and pile it, by owner, on the folding table, then everyone can get dressed.” He ambled off to deal, whistling softly.

Ducky nodded. “Wonderful young man.” He finished his tea and got up. “More coffee, Jet?” Gibbs just handed him his mug.

Ducky dodged around the various men in his way and got himself a cup of tea and a cup of coffee for Gibbs. No one said anything as they’d tried several places for the drinks station and wound up with the area under the section of countertop on the other side of the sinks from the table. The cabinets were the longest, leaving a bare twenty inches under them, and every other place was inconvenient for one reason or another. 

A few minutes later Jimmy yelled, “Laundry! Come get your asses covered!”

Everyone scrambled to get dressed, then return to their tasks.

Tony put the pie dough into the freezer to chill, saying, “There!” with evident satisfaction. “Now for the onions and turnips. I’ll cook them down, then add the peas. Someone pour all the stock into a saucepan and set it to simmer. I’ll add the herbs and whatnot, and keep an eye on it while I sweat the veg.”

Ducky settled back in his seat. “And when do you add the peas?”

“When the veg is done. They’re frozen blanched, so they only need about five minutes; could even add them frozen, as oven time’ll see them done.” Tony went back to his cooking, thanking Dean when he set the pot of stock on the simmer burner. “Thanks, man.” He added salt, pepper, parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and bay leaf to the pot, humming the old song absently.

Gibbs snickered a bit. Tony did have a habit of relating things to either a movie or a folk song, sometimes a classic rock or piano piece.

Tony absently gave him a finger over his shoulder as he stirred the turnips and onions. 

Remy announced, “Apples done. I squeeze de lemon on. Sugar?”

Tony glanced into the bowl. “Cup of brown, half a cup white. Apple pie spice is in the spice cabinet. About a heaping tablespoon. And two tablespoons of flour.” Remy stuck his spoon into the bowl and went to get the sugars and spice. “And some butter.” Remy caught the stick of butter that Dean threw at his head.

Tony tasted the filling, added some salt and pepper, then took it off the stove. “There. That’s done. Tim?”

“All done, just waiting for you to want it.” He brought the bowl of chopped roast over and gave it to Tony. Tony added the meat to the turnips and onions, then the frozen peas. “Taste.” Tony presented a spoon to Ducky.

Ducky took it, tasted the filling and smiled. “Perfect, AJ. Very good.” He handed the spoon back. Tony took a moment to put the spoon into the dishwasher so it wouldn’t be used again.

Tony nodded to Remy. “Get the dough, please.”

Remy obeyed, pinching it gently to see if it had chilled enough. “Just right. Want me to roll?”

Tony nodded, handed the pin to Dean, pointing to Remy, “Hand that on.” Dean passed the pin to Remy while Tony consulted with Ducky on the proper size. They decided on smaller pies which would cook quicker. So Remy rolled the dough out, then cut eight-inch rounds by simply cutting around a sandwich plate. As he cut, he removed the scrap dough. Cos helped out by transferring the cut rounds onto a cookie sheet and taking them over to Tony for filling.

Tony eyed the first rounds while stirring the gravy; he hated scorched gravy. “Someone come stir this so it won’t scorch.” 

It didn’t take long to assign Dean to the gravy. He grumbled a bit but Tony swatted him on the shoulder, saying, “NOGAD, man, suck it up and stir that.” He then turned to his own task of making up pies. “Ok, someone make egg wash while I start this.” He wasn’t that surprised when a bowl of egg mixed with water appeared beside his setup. He picked up his ice-cream scoop and began to put out the meat for the pasties. After running out of meat, he turned to start sealing the pies, only to find Dean and Cos doing that. “Thanks.” He looked around, then asked, “Apples?” He was handed the crockery bowl of fruit and another scoop. “Great.” He went back to portioning out food, and Cos and Dean returned to sealing. Remy went on putting the finished pies on cookie sheets, then sprinkling them with either a bit of pepper, or cinnamon sugar. When Gibbs asked why they put pepper on the pasties, Tony explained that it kept them from getting mixed up, ending, “Nothing so disconcerting as biting into what you thought was apple and getting meat.” He shrugged, then added, “Or the other way around.”

It wasn’t long before all the pies were in the ovens and the gravy was thick enough. Tony took the pot off the stove and poured the gravy into two crock pots, setting them on warm to keep the gravy at temp. “Okay. About half an hour or so. Anyone want to play some cards?

This question was greeted with all the enthusiasm of an offer of a kick in the head. Scornful refusals included, “I’m not brain damaged, man,” and “Fuck that shit.” Even Ducky refused, saying, “Bloody hell, boy, your rules are demented.”

Tony pouted at them. “You’re no fun. Fine.”

Jimmy suggested a game of ‘Never Would I Ever,’ and was pelted with soft missiles for his troubles. He groused, “AJ’s right, you’re all no fun.”

Remy offered, “We’ve most a’ us done jes’ ‘bout ever’ ting there is.” He smirked a bit. “Some a’ it even legal.”

Ducky nodded sagely. “Yes, between us all I will admit that I’m sure we’ve done almost everything. Jethro, do you remember...” He went on to reminisce until Gibbs was scarlet in the face and laughing, which brought on a coughing fit. 

He finally called a halt. “Damn it, Ducky, if you tell one more embarrassing story, I’m gonna combust. Is the food ready yet?”

Tony got up to check; his internal clock said not yet, but there was no sense in taking chances. He was right, so he said, “About another ten minutes. They’re not quite brown enough.” He went to check the gravy in the crock pots and gave that a good stir. “Ducky? Beer or ale?”

“Ale of course, dear boy. A good Scottish one. Bottom shelf.” Ducky smiled at Tony happily.

Remy, being an ass, said, “I’d a’ thought we’d ‘ave Scotch, you bein’ Scotch an’ all.”

Ducky knew Remy was just yanking his chain for fun, so he didn’t get mad, he just held up a finger and said, “Froggy, pay attention. Scotch is a delicious drink for real men. Scottish is the person who drinks it.”

Remy started laughing at that; everyone else joined in. Various exclamations of, “Scottish, dumb ass,” And “Froggy?” left them all snickering.

Tony wiped his eyes and stood up to check the pies again; he pronounced them, “Perfect,” and started putting them on platters. He put the meat on two red platters and the fruit on a green one, saying, “Red meat, green fruit. That way we don’t get them mixed up.” He brought them all to the table and thanked Dean and Cos for bringing the gravy to table, with ladles.

Gibbs took two pasties and passed the first platter. He poked a hole in the top of one and sniffed. “Hum? AJ, did you forget the pepper? Doesn’t smell right.”

Tony sniffed his pie. “Smells fine to me.”

Tim, who’d never had pasties, asked, “Why did you poke a hole in it?”

Ducky answered that one. “Gravy. You don’t dump gravy all over the pie, you poke a hole in it and pour gravy into it. Lovely.” He proceeded to use a ladle to pour gravy into the pie. 

Tim followed his example and forked up a bit. He was soon moaning in delight over the flavor.

Dean eyed him for a second then said, “Orgasmic? Seriously, Tim. Sounds nasty at table.”

Tim swallowed then said, “Shut it, jerk. It’s good.”

Dean snorted. “Of course it’s good, AJ made it. Bitch.”

Cos added, “No reason to moan like a bitch in heat. Seriously off-putting.”

Ducky eyed them, then Gibbs; when he didn’t seem to be interested in calling them to order, Ducky said, “Gentlemen, please.” Cos immediately apologized, while Tim and Dean just ducked their heads and returned to their food, suitably chastised. 

Gibbs just smirked. He and Ducky seemed to have fallen into the habit of running their own house; Gibbs didn’t interfere when they were at Ducky’s place and vice-versa. It worked.

Ducky glanced at Gibbs. He looked a bit flushed, but Ducky didn’t say anything about it, as Gibbs hated being called out. He did worry, just a bit; Gibbs was tanned enough that the faint flush was worrying. 

No one else noticed but Ducky. No one noticed the fact that Gibbs was quieter than usual, either. Everyone was a bit tired and quiet, with only an occasional outburst of their usual crazy.

When they were done with the delicious pies, Tony started assigning chores. “Dean, bus. Cos, pick up. Tim, Jimmy, dishes. Gibbs, put stuff away. Ducky, make tea ... please. Remy and I’ll put away leftovers.” He smirked, as he’d finally managed to figure out how much he needed to make so that there’d be leftovers for later.

“Got it.” Gibbs started to stand up, but staggered a bit and sat back down. Everyone froze. “Whoa! Head rush. I stood up too fast.” He stood up and held still for a moment then walked over to the counters to start putting things away. 

Dean started taking dishes off the table and taking them to Tim and Jimmy. They were using what Ducky called the nice china, so they didn’t stack anything for fear of chipping it. What Ducky called nice china was Villa Del Luna at seventy-five dollars a place setting. Ducky wouldn’t care if they smashed every bit of it by accident, but no one wanted to even chip it. The good china was an antique cobalt and gilt pattern from 18-something; it had cost six hundred dollars to replace the bread plate that Ducky had dropped. 

Tim accepted every piece, scraped it, rinsed it quickly, then handed it on to Jimmy who put it in the dishwasher. 

It wasn’t long before everyone was done with their assigned task and back at the kitchen table for a cup of tea before the GHQ group headed for home.

Gibbs, Cos, Dean, and Remy geared up, radio checked, and headed out for home, cruising slowly down the residential street, motors grumbling.

It didn’t take them long to get to GHQ that late at night. They were glad to be home as, while the rain had stopped, it was very chilly for that time of year.

They parked the motors in the garage. They’d take them back to storage in the morning.

Gibbs shuddered as he crossed the threshold, “Man, cold tonight.” He yawned, then shuddered again. “I’m for bed. Really tired tonight.” Cos shared a concerned look with Dean.

Remy glanced at his retreating back with a worried expression. “Je n'aime pas ça.”

Cos replied, “I don’t like it either.” He shrugged, then led the way up the stairs.

.

Next morning dawned, as the old saying goes, bright and early. Only someone wasn’t up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed or otherwise.

Dean eyed the closed door with a grimace. “Not me. I’m not poking a sleeping bear. Nu-uh.”

Cos shoved him a step closer. “Yeah, you are. Your rank is higher than mine ... makes it your job. I’m a’ get coffee.”

Dean snarled, “I’m a rank higher than you so ... I order you to wake him up. So there.”

Remy walked out of his room and demanded. “Wha’ yo ASVAB waiver, GOMAR magnets whisperin’ ‘bout dis early? Where Jet?”

Cos hissed, “He’s not up yet. You wake him. Coffee.” He and Dean headed down the stairs.

Remy moaned. “Merde. Ya’ll be deat’ a me yet.” He knocked on the door. No one answered, so he slowly opened it a bit and peeked in. “Merde.” Gibbs was still asleep, on his back and snoring softly. Only he was very flushed and sweating and that snore was the bubbly sort that meant a stuffed nose and bronchial congestion. Remy swallowed noisily; Jet was never sick. Only ... he was.

 

Chapter 2

 

Remy sidled into the kitchen and dropped the bomb shell. “Jet sick.”

Cos blinked at him for a moment, set his mug of coffee on the table, then said, “What?” as if he hadn’t heard right.

“Jet sick.” Remy folded his arms across his chest as if awaiting an argument.

Dean turned from rummaging the fridge for juice and said, “Never.”

“Go check fo’ yo’ sef. Ass.” Remy picked up Cos’s coffee and finished it in one go, watching as Dean and Cos left to check Gibbs for themselves.

So they used all the stealth training that they had and slipped up the stairs like they were on an op. Dean pushed the door open about two inches and Cos peeked in.

“Sleep.”

Dean hissed, “Ya think?” then looked for himself.

Cos offered, “Doesn’t look good. All sweaty and pale.”

“And flushed. Not good.”

Cos hissed. “How the hell can he be pale and flushed at the same time?”

“Well, look at him. Damn. Now what?”

They backed away and turned to go back to the kitchen only to hear Gibbs snarl, “Not sick.”

Dean shrugged. “Fuck that shit, Jet. You’re sick. Shut up.”

They gathered in the kitchen, exchanging panicky looks, trying to decide what to do. Remy finally said, “I make breakfas’.” He started rattling pans.

Cos sighed and rubbed his face. “We ought to call someone?”

Dean nodded. “Yes, yes we should. Jimmy? Or Ducky?”

Remy offered. “We call one, we call bot’.”

Dean just dialed his phone. “Jimmy? Hey. No way to sugar-coat it. Jet’s sick. Come over.”

The squawk from the other end was loud enough to make Dean flinch. “Ow. Man, I hope he doesn’t get a ticket.” He hung up then said, “We got cold crap?”

Cos shrugged. “No idea. I’ll go check then make a run. Juice?”

Remy opened the fridge. “Not the kind Jet likes. Grapefruit or that peach mango crap. Who would a thunk it. Seriously.”

“Okay.” Cos scribbled on a piece of paper. “Back in a bit.” He climbed the stairs quickly. He came back down with a disgusted expression on his face. “We got a medic kit that’s nearly a field hospital and no cold meds of any kind. What the actual fuck?”

Dean frowned. “I think I used most of it up when I had that cold last month. We never got around to refilling. Sorry. I should have seen to it ...” He shrugged. “We got busy.”

Cos snorted then said, “Well, ya think?”

“Yeah, mad bombers.” Dean shrugged. “What can ya do?”

Cos took a list from Remy then said, “I’m off ...in more ways than one.” He ambled out to the garage, chuckling to himself. Hoots and laughter followed him.

Dean sighed. “Remy, make soup.”

“I am. My famous two-chicken noodle soup. Call Tony an’ tell ‘im bring noodles.”

Dean just dialed. The following conversation was interesting. “Tony, bring noodles.”

“Okay. I’ll have to make some ... we used the last frozen ones a while ago. I’ll bring ‘em in about an hour.”

Ducky’s voice came from the small speaker. “Oh, no, you will not. If Jethro has flu, you’ll stay away. I do not want to have to nurse those lungs through that. And it will take months for you to get your capacity back.”

Tony whined, “But, Ducky―”

“No. AJ. Just no.” Ducky rustled around in the distance. “Now. I’m going over. You make noodles and have Jimmy bring them. Stay!”

Tony heaved a gusty sigh. “Well, shit. Okay.” He hung up without further comment.

Dean clattered around in the kitchen, finding all the things Remy would need for his soup. “What about chicken? How much ... Remy?”

Remy nodded at him. “Cos get chicken an’ stock. Fo’ now ... we jes’ wait. Clean de kitchen and whatnot.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna go start some laundry. It’s Jet’s turn but ... meh.” He ambled off to gather and sort things.

Dean stopped to check on Gibbs as he gathered up piles of laundry. He didn’t look very good. He was pale, with a hectic flush high on his cheekbones, and he was sweating like a foundered horse. His breathing was even more congested. Dean hoped Ducky got there soon.

He turned around and nearly ran the man down; dropping the laundry in his arms he hugged Ducky to keep from knocking him down. “Man, Duck, scare the shit out of me. Sorry. You okay?”

Ducky patted him on the arm. “Yes, I’m fine. Now. What’s going on?”

“Jet’s sick. I mean ... really sick.” Dean gathered up his laundry. “I’m gonna dump this in the laundry room. You need me ... yell.”

“Excellent. I’m sure I’ll have more luck with Jethro alone.” Ducky pushed the door open and walked into Gibbs’ room. “Very well, Jethro, let me see you.”

Gibbs, for his part, felt like he was alternately freezing and burning up; his nose was clogged, and his chest felt like he’d been wrapped in barbed wire. “Duck. Go the fuck away.”

“I do not believe I will. Now sit up like a good chap and let me have a listen.” Ducky ruthlessly dragged the covers off his protesting patient and dragged him upright. After listening to Gibbs’ chest and back, Ducky put his stethoscope away and said, “That’s a nasty case of flu you’ve got. Weren’t feeling quite the thing last night, were you?”

Gibbs grunted. “I’m fine.”

Ducky snorted at that then said, “Certainly. Roll over. You’re getting a shot.”

Gibbs bared his arm. “Right here.”

“No, I believe I said roll over. Unless you want a very sore arm.” Ducky twirled his finger. “Now be a good chap and roll.”

Gibbs grumbled some more but rolled, he knew from sad experience that, when Ducky said sore, he meant it. He gritted his teeth as the needle entered his gluteus maximus. “Fuck, Ducky.”

“It’s where it goes. Deal.” Ducky rummaged in his bag again. “I’m not going to give you antibiotics, they don’t do any good for flu, but I’m going to write down some instructions.” He started scribbling.

“Damnit, Duck. What the hell was that shot then?”

“Vitamins.” He pronounced it the British way, making Gibbs snort a bit. “You need the systematic support. A nasty case of flu will keep your appetite suppressed for quite some time. Now ... go back to sleep and do not give your carers a hard time. You know you’re a true terror when you feel poorly. I’ll be back in a few days to check on you.”

Gibbs grumbled wordlessly as Ducky actually tucked him in, then left.

Ducky made his way to the kitchen and entered just in time to hear Remy say, “I use commercial chicken stock. No’ broth, stock. It quicker and jus’ as good. It called two-chicken soup ‘cause ma mere used two chickens to make it. One to make de broth and the other for the meat.” 

Ducky interrupted. “Sorry, gentlemen, I need your attention for a moment.” He went on to give the usual flu instructions: keep warm and hydrated, give foods gentle on an upset stomach, stay in bed. “And give him a decongestant, aspirin, and Tamiflu. This is new on the market, but it’s effective. I’ll give one of you the prescription ... you can get it at your regular pharm.” He wrote out the prescriptions sitting at the table. “Now. I’m out of this plague house. Jimmy and AJ will murder me if I get sick and give it to them. I’m especially worried about AJ, but I’ve got him on a preventative regimen of Tamiflu as of an hour ago.”

About twenty minutes after Ducky left to go home and Dean left to get the prescription filled, Cos returned. “Hey. Got a bunch of stuff. That rotisserie chicken and the stock you wanted. I got low-sodium so it won’t be too salty when you cook it down. And AJ called me while I was out, said to come over and get noodles, so we have fresh homemade noodles. And cold crap. I got individual symptom stuff instead of that multi crap Ducky is always bitching about. So ... Aspirin for fever ... cough syrup ... antihistamines, no decongestant as Jet won’t use a spray for shit. And I got orange juice, mango-peach, grape, and apple. Anything I forgot?”

Remy shook his head. “Non, done good, man.” He took the boxes of stock and started pouring them into a pot. After he emptied the three boxes of stock into a big pot he added the chicken whole.

Dean eyed the pot then asked, “Shouldn’t you ... um ... cut that up or something?”

Remy shook his head. “Not yet. Wan’ get all the good out the skin and such first.” He put a lid on the pot and went to chop up some carrots and celery.

Cos poured coffee, then held up the pot, “Want?”

Dean nodded and Remy said, “S’il vous plaît.” so Dean poured him a cup and set it within his reach, but out of line of an accidental spill. 

Remy stopped chopping to take a drink of his coffee. “Good stuff.” He snarled with annoyance as his phone went off with the ring tone assigned to Tony. “AJ.” He dropped the phone on the counter top and pushed the speaker button.

“Ow! Asshole. How’s Jet? You need anything?” 

Cos took over the conversation as Remy had just ambled over to the spice cabinet to find the things he needed. “He’s sick. Ducky says it’s the flu ... that’s why we wanted the noodles. Remy’s makin’ soup. We’ve got all the cold meds we need, and you do not get to come over so don’t. We don’t need you sick too.”

“Jerk.”

Cos announced, “Not either! If I was a jerk, I’d let you come over and get sick. Jerk your own self.”

Tony realized that he’d stepped a bit over the line. “Sorry. Really. But Jet’s never sick. I don’t remember the last time he has had so much as a sniffle. Call me. I mean it.”

“If there’s any change or anything we need that you can do ... I’ll call.” Cos’s voice softened as he said, “Really. Promise.”

“Okay. Bye.” Tony hung up, reassured that there was nothing they needed, but that they would call if they did.

.

Gibbs woke again, realized something, and made a call. “Duck, thanks for coming over, but do not come over again. Not that you’re ancient or anything near it ... but I don’t want you getting sick. Send Gremlin.”

Ducky, knowing well that he was a bit too old to be fighting off flu, just said, “I’ll do that. He’s champing at the bit to see you, so I’ll let him do the health check in two days. Stay. In. Bed.” 

Gibbs grumbled, “I could sit on the couch.”

“Yes, you could, but will you.”

“Ducky, the way I feel, that’s all I can see in my near future. Bed, couch, head. Repeat as necessary. I’m trashed.” He hung up and pulled the covers back over his head.

Remy checked Gibbs when he heard his voice but all he saw was a lump under the covers. He went back to his soup.

Dean was poking at the chicken with a fork. “I think this is done, it’s starting to fall apart.”

“Bon. Take it out carefully so it doesn’t fall apart. An’ pick it, please.”

Dean carefully maneuvered the chicken into a large crock bowl as he asked, “And what are you gonna be doin’?”

“I gon’ cook noodles an’ y’ know they take watchin’.”

Cos ambled in with an armload of kitchen towels and wash cloths. “I know why you insist, but man, usin’ one set a’ towels for hands and another for dishes generates a foxtrot tango a’ laundry. An’ bleachin’ those dish rags every time makes another whole load. But ... I’d rather do more laundry than get GI’s. You remember the time ...?” With that he was off on a round of recollections of times they’d gotten sick from unclean cooking conditions. 

Dean and Remy listened with amusement; they remembered well. Especially the time when AJ had told them that the food from the cart in Cozumel smelled off. They’d eaten it anyway and had all come down with a case of Montezuma’s Revenge that had cancelled an important mission, passing it off to another team. AJ had bitched endlessly about having to nurse them through and still hadn’t let them forget it.

While they chatted, Remy put the fresh noodles into the soup, then turned the heat up to bring it to a slow simmer. He stirred them carefully so as not to break them. As soon as they were done, he dumped the coarsely chopped chicken in. As Gibbs was surely going to have a sensitive stomach, he didn’t add any vegetables. 

“There. I’ll put it in several containers, as one will be a bitch to handle. Dean, long-arm me that stack of quart containers from behind you.”

Dean obliged and they all sniffed appreciatively as the smell wafted around the kitchen. 

Remy nodded over his shoulder and said, “Som’ un get a loaf a’ bread out the freezer an’ stick it in th’ oven.” 

Cos got up to do that but paused as they heard a violent coughing fit from upstairs. “I better go see about that.” He reached out and snagged the bottle of cough medicine. “It’s grape. It was either that or anise, and Jet hates that. So ...” He figuratively girded his loins and headed off.

.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was just about as miserable as he’d ever been; first he was freezing, then he was roasting. He’d sweated through his t-shirt and boxers, and his sheets were damp. He thought about getting up and changing everything but he was just too tired. And the coughing fits were killing him; he wondered how AJ had stood it.

Cos’s cheerful, “Jet, medicine! Rise and shine,” made him retreat deeper into his cocoon of blanket and sheets. 

He poked his head out, snarled, “Fuck off,” then pulled it back in. Cos said later that he looked like some sort of hermit crab.

“Nope. Take your cough medicine; you’ll quit coughing up a damn lung.” He held the tiny cup out. “Seriously.”

Gibbs took the cup, swallowed the thick, sticky syrup, then handed the cup back. “Grape? Seriously? What the actual fuck?”

“It was either grape or licorice.” He reached out to try to straighten the covers and found that they were damp. “Man. What the hell? These are wet.” He reached out to touch Gibbs’ forehead. “You’re sweatin’ like a bull at high noon. Hang on.” He hurried out. It wasn’t long before he returned with an armful of sheets, clean boxers, and a t-shirt. “Here. Get up and shuck those wet things. Not so good. And I’ll remake your bed with dry sheets. That blanket has to go too; it’s wet.” He started pulling at the blanket.

Gibbs wasn’t that inclined to let it go, but finally gave up. He immediately started shivering. “Damn it, I’m cold. Give.”

Cos shook his head. “Here, wrap the clean blanket around you. I’ll get the sheets on as fast as I can. While I’m doing that, make like a submarine and get out of those wet cloths and into the dry.” 

Gibbs just complied by wrapping the blanket around himself, covering his head with one corner, and wriggling out of his wet boxers. This was made much harder than it should be by the wet things sticking to his skin. He grumbled and snarled, but only managed to replace his boxers, his t-shirt stuck to him like glue.

“Remy, damnit, a little help here.” 

Remy turned to see that Gibbs had gotten his shirt twisted around his torso and was now locked into it. “Here. Jes’ be still.” Gibbs stilled and waited while Remy untwisted the shirt and dragged it off. “Hol’ up yo han’s.” Gibbs obeyed and Remy had his shirt on in seconds. “Wrap up good. I’m not done wit’ de bed yet.”

Gibbs rewrapped the blanket and settled in to sulk, although he’d deny it with his last breath.

Remy quickly finished making the bed and helped Gibbs crawl back in. He rearranged the blanket to keep him covered as he did so. “There. I’ be back wit’ mo’ meds in a sec.”

Gibbs kept his silence over that, he wasn’t looking forward to the experience at all. Who would have thought that “good-tasting” meds would leave such a foul aftertaste?

Remy returned quickly with Dean in tow, as well as several bottles of what he called pills an’ potions. It didn’t take much time for Dean to measure out a liquid and drop several pills into another cup. 

“Okay. You’ve already had cough stuff.” He handed a cup to Remy. “This is decongestant. Then aspirin for fever and muscle ache. And some juice to wash it down. Peach-mango. And can I just say ... Blarg.”

Gibbs emerged from his cocoon to take the medicine, gulp the juice and retreat again. “Go ‘way. You’ll get sick too.”

Dean eyed Remy then jerked his head. “Right, Jet, we’re gone. Go to sleep.”

The second they got back to the kitchen Cos handed out soup and bread. “Okay, how bad?”

“Fever, chills, congestion; chest and nose. And bitchy. Aches and pains. Headache.” Dean shrugged. “Flu ... really bad case. We’re fucked for the foreseeable future and AJ’s gonna be a PITA.”

Cos nodded his understanding, “In other words ... Ducky was right. Shit.”

Dean buttered his bread, took a bite, then chewed contemplatively. Finally he said, “Well, we can do this. Seriously. He’s just bitchy because he’s sick. Not like he’s gonna stab us or somethin’.”

Remy nodded. “True. But we better set up shifts. He’s gonna need nursin’ an’ we’re gonna need sleep and three S’s time. So ... I’m a’ do the cookin’. That leaves you two on watch an’ watch.”

Cos shrugged. “Not like it’s gonna be hard. He’ll sleep most of the time. Dean? Day or night?”

Dean frowned at his soup for a moment. “Flip for it.”

“‘K. Gimme a sec.” Cos rummaged around in his pockets for a coin but came up with nothing but a ball of lint. “Nope. Nada. Just a pocket monster.” 

Remy dropped his phone on the table, poked an app and said, “Heads or tails.”

Dean chose heads while Cos just shrugged. Remy poked his phone again then announced, “Heads. Dean, you’re day; Cos, night.”

Cos grumbled a bit but said, “I’ll take a nap at about 1500. Let me sleep at least two hours; that’ll leave me ready to sleep again at about 0500. Shift from 0700 to 1900?”

“Sounds good to me. And that leaves a bit of overlap for meals, so Remy isn’t a damn fry cook.”

Remy shrugged. “Doan mind.” He rattled around for a few minutes, searching the cabinets. “We doan got a tray.”

Dean blinked at him for a moment. “Tray? Sure we do. There’s that ...” he trailed off at Remy’s steaming look. “What?”

“A bed tray ... for Jet to eat off.” He waited a moment but their puzzled looks made him snarl, “So he doesn’t spill shit all over? Got a clue?”

Both Dean and Cos nodded. Dean got up, wiping his mouth, “Okay. I’ll go find one. Pier 1?”

Cos nodded. “Best bet. Or a ... I donno ... hospital supply place?”

Gibbs croaked from the door. “Don’ need a tray. I’ll come to th’ table. Hate bed trays. Too much like a hospital. Soup?”

Remy rushed to pull a chair out for Gibbs, bitching him out at the same time. “Damn it, Jet, y’ need stay in bed. You’ll only feel worse. An’ soup. An’ ...” he squinted at the counter. “I thin’ there a couple slices a bread left too.”

Gibbs settled in the offered seat and put his head down on the table. “Soup’s good. Is there a heel?”

Dean just handed over the last slice and a heel. “Butter?”

“No, thanks. Just want soppin’ bread.”

Dean grinned. “It is good.” 

All three men watched as Gibbs ate the soup, soaking up some of the broth with the heel of bread. He finished by wiping the last of the broth out of the bowl with a scrap of the soft slice of bread. “Good. Thanks.” He accepted the tea he was handed, grumbling about it not being coffee.

“Yeah, you go ‘head an’ drink coffee. Y’ stomach won’ like dat an’ you know it.” Remy took the last of the dishes and put them in the machine. “You get back t’ bed.”

Gibbs eyed Remy; for a moment he looked like he was going to argue, then he had a coughing fit. “‘K ... bossy.”

“An’ take some mo’ cough stuff. Sound like yo coughin’ up a lung.”

Gibbs, who now felt as if a band had been tightened around his chest, just mumbled, “Goin’. Seriously bossy.”

He stood, shivering, for a moment then headed back up the stairs. 

Dean eyed Cos, who eyed him right back. “Call Ducky?”

“What for?”

“Donno ... just ... he looks so sick. We should do something.”

Remy butted in with, “We doin’ all we can. He jes’ have t’ wait it out. Sucks ... but we deal. Right?”

Dean and Cos both said, “Right. Just hope we don’t get called out. And what about NCIS ... people aren’t gonna stop gettin’ murdered and whatnot just because Jet’s sick.”

Tim called just then to ask how Gibbs was and to inform them that, as Gibbs was sick, Tony was team lead until further notice. He also said that Tony wanted Remy and Dean to stay with Gibbs while Cos took a place on the MCRT until Gibbs was back.

Remy, whose phone Tim had called, conveyed the message.

“Well, that scuttled our plans. Remy?”

Remy shrugged. “No idea. Anything?”

Cos offered. “My Mom used to give me a bell that I could ring if I needed anything.”

Dean scoffed. “Can you see Jet using a bell? A bellow, that I could see. But the shape his throat is in? No.”

Just then a loud blast from a hand-held air horn made all three of them nearly jump out of their skins. 

“Well, that takes care of that. I’ll go see what he wants.” Dean headed up the stairs.

.

Gibbs waited for someone to show up. He’d sweated through his t-shirt and boxers again and he knew he was going to have to have some help or he’d just wind up making himself worse by trying to change sheets in damp things. Beside that, he was now chilling and shivering so hard he didn’t think he could manage.

Dean took one look at Gibbs and said, “Jet. What? You look like shit, man.”

Gibbs snarled, “Thanks so much.” He shuddered so hard his teeth chattered. “Need dry stuff. I keep sweatin’ through everything.”

Dean nodded. “That’s your fever breaking, then coming back. You’ll sweat, then chill. I’m gonna get you fresh clothing and sheets. Your favorite blanket is clean again, so I’ll bring that too.”

Gibbs grunted. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t long before Dean was back in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee. “He’s bad. Bet it takes at least two whole weeks for him to get over this. Not lookin’ forward.”

Cos shrugged. “He took care of us. We take care of him.”

“Yeah, an’ I bet he’s a lot less trouble than we were. Too sick.”

Remy agreed. “Yeah. Y’all jes’ wounded. He got a fever. I take him up some juice.”

Cos said, “Okay, fine. Someone has to finish putting the motors in storage. AJ an’ his crew dealt with theirs, but ours are still in back. You stay here and we’ll deal with the motors.”

Dean agreed, adding, “We can take two over at a time but we’ll need a ride back. Call AJ an’ tell ‘im.”

“Great. That way he’ll feel like he’s helpin’ out.”

A quick call had Tony agreeing to drive to the storage in his hummer and pick them up. He also said that he’d escort them back on the second run and get them back home again. 

Remy announced that, while they were doing that, he was going to finish laundry and clean the garage. When Dean gave him a doubtful look he said, “Jet gonna be in bed asleep. I’ll give him some cold stuff and he’ll sleep for a couple a’ hours.”

“Okay. Fine. Cos, let’s get humpin’.”

Dean and Cos geared up, but didn’t bother with radio checks; without the trike, there was no radio contact. Instead, Cos called Dean on his phone, and they Bluetoothed their phones to their helmets.

“You ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s put wheels under this bitch.”

They pulled out of the garage and rumbled down the street, taking their time. Dean grumbled, “I’m glad I got out my heavy jacket. It’s cold as fuck.”

Cos replied, “Me too. This weather is nuts. Watch the left.”

Dean turned his head to see a kid on a bike trying to keep up with them. He was peddling like mad, but losing ground. Both men waved at him then sped up. They didn’t want him so intent on pacing them that he got himself into some kind of trouble. 

It didn’t take them that long to get to the storage. Tony was waiting for them with the doors already up so they just rode right in and parked the bikes. 

“There. Come on. Ducky actually gave me specific orders on what I can and cannot do. Basically, I can’t go anywhere near Jet. And, if either one of you coughs or sneezes ... well, just don’t. Man is seriously paranoid,” Tony laughed. “And do not fight over shotgun or you’ll both be in the back.”

Dean and Cos played rock, paper, scissors for front, Dean won.

They rode in silence for a bit, then Dean sighed, “Man, Jet’s really out of it. He’s been sleepin’ for the last twelve hours or so. Hope he’s gonna be okay.”

Tony snorted. “That man’ll be fine. He’s been blown up three or four times, survived a long tour in Columbia. He’s as tough as we are.”

“Okay, okay. I’m just freaked.” 

Tony pulled into the driveway and let them out, then backed down to wait until they pulled out in front of him. They headed back down the street on their second pass.

The second drive was accomplished with silent efficiency. Tony locked the storage, while Dean and Cos waited for him.

They talked about nothing on the way back, in the way friends do. 

They were almost home when Tony’s phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to Dean. “Answer that, will you?”

Dean just pushed talk and said, “AJ’s phone, Dean speaking. Gimme a sec an’ I’ll put you on speaker.” He pushed the appropriate button and held the phone up.

“AJ. Ducky speaking. Do not go into the house. I’m sure Gibbs is still contagious and you do not need to be ill.”

“Ducky, I swear. I gave my word, what do you want?”

“Your word is good enough. I’m just reminding you.”

“Okay, okay. I promised.”

Tony made a face as Ducky pulled a Gibbs and hung up.

“Damnit. I swear, Jet’s rubbing off on everyone. Good-bye just fell off the radar entirely.” 

Everyone laughed at that and went back to gossiping like, as Gibbs said, old women.

Dean’s phone rang. “Yeah, Dean here.” He put his phone on speaker, which almost everyone in the Pod did. It kept them from having to repeat everything. 

Remy was on the other end of the line. “Hey. Jet’s still sleeping, but I don’t want to leave him alone. Will you pick up some juice and some more aspirin?”

Tony replied, “Sure, we’re just coming up on that CVS. We can stop there and get stuff. Check the meds and call me back if you need anything.”

“Got it.”

Tony made the turn and parked a bit away from the store. He usually tried to park in an unused lane, as the Hummer took up all of a standard parking place. He parked across the line and took up two spaces as, if someone parked on either side of him, they wouldn’t be able to get the doors open. He knew it wasn’t really nice, but it was necessary.

They strolled into the store and split up. Tony went to find juice, while Dean headed for cold medicine; and Cos, he went for beer. 

When they gathered at the register to check out, the bored-looking twenty-something girl tried to flirt. Tony shot her down easily. “Sweetie, I’m old enough to be your dad an’ mean enough to swat your ass. Knock it off and ring us up.”

The girl didn’t take offense; instead she snickered and said, “Well, who knows, I might like it if you swat my ass. Can’t blame a gal for tryin’.” She winked then continued, “And you’re nowhere old as my dad; my big brother ... maybe.” She finished checking them out quickly and bagged the snacks, cold medicine, and juice. “I know you don’t, but management insists that I ask ... Do you want a bag for the beer?”

The offer was refused with all the scorn it deserved. They left the pharmacy, bumping shoulders and laughing. 

.

Remy looked up from his laundry as Dean, Cos, and AJ clattered in through the garage door. “Hey.”

“Hey your own self.” Dean gestured vaguely with the bags in one hand. “We got ... stuff.”

Remy pointed at Tony. “You. Go. Yo’ not supposed t’ be in here. You get sick ... Ducky kill us all.”

Tony pouted but headed back out the door. “Can’t shoot a man for tryin’.”

“Ducky’ll give you a shot.” Dean smirked at Tony’s rapidly retreating back. Everyone knew that Tony hated needles with a passion. Not that anyone blamed him, Y. pestis and double digits of stitches had made him what Ducky called needle-shy.

Cos dumped his bags on the kitchen table and fished out the new bottle of cough medicine. “I’ll run this up to Jet; he’s due.”

He took the steps two at a time and knocked on Gibbs’ bedroom door. “Jet? You awake?” He didn’t get an answer, so he eased the door open. It was just common sense not to startle even a retired Marine Scout Sniper from sleep; it could get you slugged. “Jet?” Cos stood and looked at the bed for several seconds… the empty, nicely made bed. “What the actual fuck? Damnit.”

Cos charged back down the stairs. “Remy! Remy! Where the fuck is Jet?”

Remy stuck his head out the laundry room door. “In bed.”

“Not.”

“Well, shit. I turn m’ back on ‘im for two seconds.”

Dean came in from the living room. “What’s all the yellin’ about?”

“Jet’s gone missin’.”

“What? Where?”

Cos gave Dean a ‘Well, duh.’ look. “If I knew that, he wouldn’t be missing, now would he?”

Remy frowned, “Okay, can that shit. Where the hell would Jet go? He’s ... under his boat.”

Cos nodded. “He is ... he surely is.”

Dean agreed, “Yeah, he always goes there when he’s overwhelmed. Let’s go. An’ bring his medicine. He’s due.”

So they trooped down into the basement and checked under the boat. Gibbs was there, cuddled up in the nest of blankets and pillows, sound asleep.

Cos backed out then said, “He’s sound asleep. I’d wake him up, but it’s the best rest he’s gotten in two days.”

Dean was already on the phone to Ducky. Jimmy answered the phone. “Dr. Mallard’s phone. Jimmy Palmer speaking.”

“Hey. So ... Jet’s under his boat, sound asleep. He’s resting so well we hate to wake him ... but he’s due for cough med, expectorant, and all that. So ... wake him or not?”

“Not. He needs the rest more than anything. Let him skip. Give him his meds when he wakes up, then go on from there. Make sure he has a full glass of water and some juice as well. Get him to eat something if you can. Call back any time.” Dean heard Ducky in the back ground but couldn’t understand him. “Ducky needs me. Bye.”

Since they usually put their phones on speaker when they all needed to hear, Cos and Remy just nodded. “Okay. Let’s get set up here.” Cos eyed Dean. “Yeah, I know. But he’s more comfortable under there ... not sayin’ I wouldn’t be too. So, we set the meds up on ... some clean, flat surface and go from there.”

It didn’t take them long to move a few tools back to their storage; Jet could find them again when he wanted them. For now, they went back to their proper places. This left a good spot to leave all his medicines and a pressure pot of water to take the pills with. Ducky had vetoed taking pills with liquid medicines. 

As soon as they heard Gibbs stir, Dean brought down a glass of juice, tapped on the boat and said, “Jet. Medicine. Here.” A hand emerged from under the boat so he put pills in it. It disappeared then reemerged; he put the glass of juice in it. “There’s two liquids, too. Ducky said not to mix ‘em, so you need to come out for them.”

Gibbs rustled around a bit then crawled half way out. “Wet.” he shoved a couple of sheets and a blanket onto the floor then held out a hand for the rest of his medicine. “Okay.” He knocked back the first shot, making a face. “Gross.” Dean didn’t comment, he just handed the other dose over. Gibbs also knocked that one back then asked, “What’s with the cherry and grape?”

“Only other choice was bubblegum or licorice. Didn’t think you’d like either one of those. Juice.”

Gibbs took the juice and drank half; he swished a mouthful around to get rid of the medicinal taste then finished the rest. He handed the glass back saying, “Thanks. Could you wash that?”

“Sure thing. I’ve got some clean stuff for you ... couple a’ sheets, a blanket and a pillow with a clean case. Ought maybe drag all that nest out and sort it out. You still chillin’?”

“Yeah, but the nest does need sorting and whatnot. I can manage for a bit.” Gibbs was not visibly shivering.

“Nope. Here.” Dean showed Gibbs a pile of sheets, blankets and pillows. “This is all clean. Just shove everything out and start fresh. I’ll wash all that and you can decide how much of it you want back.”

Gibbs just turned and crawled back under the boat without saying a thing. He shoved the whole nest out and eased back to give Dean room.

Dean just squatted down and shoved his whole armload of things under the boat. “There. Water on the counter there ...” he pointed. “Meds too. You want anything else ... here.” He tossed the airhorn under the boat, then dragged the nest into the free floor space and started sorting.

He wound up with a pile of sheets and pillow cases, another of blankets, and a mass of pillows. “Well, Jet, looks like I’ve got about six loads of really dirty shit. How the hell did we wind up sleeping in that?” He sighed and started resorting into loads.

Meanwhile Gibbs grumbled, “No idea. Just ... no one dealt. Is there anything hot?”

“No, but that’s not a problem. I’ll just go up and heat you up some soup.”

Gibbs rustled around, arranging the sheets and blankets to his liking then dumping the pillows in. He settled back, his body cushioned by blankets and pillows, to cover himself with a sheet and blanket. He still felt like shit warmed over, but he’d stopped sweating through everything on the hour. His nose and chest were still congested and his whole body ached like an unlanced boil. 

Remy returned with the chicken soup in a cup. Gibbs eyed it for a moment, took a sip then gave it back. “No.”

Remy sighed. “Jet, yo gotta eat somethin’.”

“No.”

Remy gave up but threatened, “If y’ doan eat somethin’ in six hours, I’m a call Ducky.”

“Asshole.”

“Yup.”

And Remy went off to move laundry around then upstairs. He put the cup on the table then went to answer the door: UPS delivery of some gun parts for Cos. 

Dean came into the kitchen and found the soup on the table so he took time to fix himself some toast to go with the soup. No sense in letting perfectly good soup go cold.

Cos wandered in with his parts. “Sorry, I need the table to unpack this.”

Dean, mouth full of toast, just waved a hand so Cos started unpacking his stuff. “When you get done with that, would you make me one? Just use the same cup.”

Dean nodded, swallowed, then said, “Sure. Parts are for my M1911, right? So, it’s really gonna hurt me to make you soup.” He finished the last noodle and took the cup back to the counter to make Cos a serving. “Toast?”

“Be nice. Thanks.”

Dean made soup and toast while Cos finished the inventory. He was reconditioning Dean’s old WWII Colt. It wasn’t an issue, it was an antique and not in that good condition. It needed a new firing pin and some springs and screws. Cos absently nibbled at his toast as he checked things off his list. “Great, all there. Soup’s good. Thanks again.”

Remy wandered back in with an armload of pillow cases which he dumped on the end of the table. “I swear half the linens are under that boat.”

After folding the last pillowcase Remy took them upstairs to the linen closet and put them on a shelf. He checked the bathroom over, made sure that all Gibbs’ meds were downstairs, then settled to watch TV for a bit.

He was interrupted by a honk from the basement. “Okay, okay. Comin’.” He wandered down to peek under the boat. “You honked?”

“I did. Is there any more of that peach/mango juice?”

“Yeah. You ought to have soup. But I’ll bring you juice.”

Gibbs made a face. “Soup just smells off.”

“Nothin’ wrong with dat soup. Your sniffer fucked.”

“Okay. Bring some. I’ll try again.” He looked hopeful. “I do feel a bit better. I think that stuff that Ducky prescribed is workin’.”

“Good.” Remy went back upstairs to make more soup and pour some juice. This time Gibbs took it and managed to finish all the soup and most of the juice.

Remy took the glass and mug back to the kitchen. He rinsed them with a mild bleach solution, then put them in the dishwasher.

.

The next three days were a repeat of the last. Ducky called every day to check on Gibbs, and the three SEALs nursed him patiently. They took care of their own. Tony stayed away, grumbling grudgingly about “ol’ women.” Cos was in and out, obligingly picking up things on his way back from the Yard.

Finally, Gibbs came down early, dressed in jeans, long-sleeved t-shirt, and flannel. He was wearing slippers without socks, but he looked much better. “Hey. Breakfast?” His hopeful look made everyone relax.

“Sure. What do you want?” Remy waited for a grumbled demand for poached eggs or something else gentle on a fussy stomach.

“Whatever you’re fixin’ is fine. I feel good.” Gibbs poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip and sighed. “Great stuff.”

Remy produced a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns. Gibbs took one look at the plate and grinned, “Man, Remy, thanks. Looks really good, and I’m starved.”

While Gibbs and Remy were eating, Cos and Dean stumbled in, heavy-eyed and grumpy.

Remy eyed Dean. “Man, yo don’ look good.”

Dean coughed then snarled, “Fuck you, man, I’m not sick.”

Remy and Gibbs both flinched as Cos grumbled, “I’m not either.”

 

~~fini~~

.

Conchiglie Grandi are really big shell pasta. Yummy when stuffed with just about anything.


End file.
